Darkness Alone
by Heaven Star
Summary: What would happen to Farfarello if he never ended up in Schwarz...?
1. Chapter 1

A/N: New ficcie! Yay! I have absolutly no idea how this will go, so far I have a vague, very vague idea of where this is going to go but...we'll see how it goes. I had fun writing the first chappie and I think I'm going to enjoy writing this, because it's a little different to what I usually write! Because this is so different, please review and tell me what you think! Remember: Constructive criticism is good, flaming is bad. PLEASE NOTE: This fic is rated R because content will be graphic and may disturb some readers (in later chappies). Is you do not think you should be reading this – don't!!  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own Farfie – not at all, not even a little bit, not even a hair on his head...I'm just borrowing him!  
  
Darkness Alone – Chapter 1  
  
A freight train shatters the midnight silence that blanketed the dark hued landscape. The Emerald Isle slept as the train rattled and squawked on its rusty rails, carrying coal from the peat bogs and mines across to the ports in Dublin*. The driver doses in his cabin, there is not another soul around - save the crumpled figure atop the coal pile in one of the open roofed carriages, laid open to the cutting winds that rolled off the hills and the speckled sky that twinkled behind rolling, misty clouds.  
  
The figure stirred, the wind's icy tendrils raked and ruffled his auburn, rusty hair. He rolled over a little, the gouging coal leaving black scars across his pale, slender arms that were laced with stringy sinew and across his equally pale neck. The train jolts violently upon its rusty rails, sending a sprinkling of salamander sparks spiraling into the ebony depths of the night with a grating scream of wheels and the sickening whiff of brake fluid, wafted by those drafty winds.  
  
The youth was thrown brutally though the air for a split second before he awoke, slammed into his coal bed once more, which shifted beneath him and resulted in him tumbling down the gravelly mount to strike the steel wall of the carriage with a dull bell-like toll.  
  
The youth lies dazed, his emotion filled amber eyes gaze up at the whirling depths of the cosmos above him, without seeing, before whisper of breath returns to his lungs and he focuses again. Slowly he raises a white hand, embellished across the palm by a few, deep pinkish scars. He flexes his fingers and watches the joints move before brushing his fingers across his short-cropped hairline. Sticky blood laces those pale fingertips and he looks at it for a moment, watching the silver moonlight and the wind warp it's colour and shape before thrusting the digits into his mouth and sucking the crimson fluid from them, ignoring the intermingled dusty taste of coal.  
  
He chuckles, snickers with the satisfaction of a child who has been given candy. Slowly he rolls his eyes aside from the murky clouds overhead to the mountain of coal he had tumbled from, to lie next to. Upon it's noble, ebony side lay a knife. An ordinary kitchen knife. It was not large, nor particularly sharp or well crafted. Seeing it the youth's eyes flatten slightly, auburn brows furrow and his fingers, no longer graced with their crimson adornments, slipped from his pale lips.  
  
He lunged upwards, throwing himself at the towering coal pile and the blade, as the coal slipped and churned beneath his feet. With a clatter and a cloud of grey dust he finally lost his balance and slid to the base of the pile once more. With a strangled gasp he scrabbled up the pile, only to meet the same fate.  
  
A gleam of intelligence showed within deep amber coloured eyes and he slowly began his ascent, with the grace of a cat on a tightrope he placed each foot, each hand and tested it before putting his weight on it fully. Half a foot away from his goal his left foothold gave way and he felt the now all too familiar feeling of falling. As he fell, nostrils filling with the coals dusky, smoky scent and eyes glazed with lack of sleep, exhaustion and – something else. A flailing white hand alit on the blade, it's dulled edge still able to gouge a chunk out of his palm and release a trickle of silver-tinted ruby life-force to pool into the creases and folds of his hand.  
  
With a satisfied sigh he clutched it to his chest as he bounced and tumbled down the pile. Warm blood slipped between his fingers to prick his white linen shirt with bright polka dots amidst the black coal stains. As if only just realising what he is wearing his eyes narrow again before he begins to hack at the shirt with a brutally meticulous manner, fibres ripping beneath the dull edge. Until a square of fabric had been removed from his chest. He read it one last time in disgust, before he hurled it over the edge of the carriage into the night.  
  
'Jei Farfarello. No: NS0673. Our Holy Saviour Hospital, Kilkenny – Mental Illness Unit' 


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thanks to those who reviewed the first chapter and my apologies this wasn't updated sooner! I did mention it was a vague idea, didn't I?! This fic may move slowly because I'm not too sure where it's going, but please stick with me on this one! PLEASE NOTE: This fic is rated 'R' because it's contents will be somewhat graphic in places and may disturb some readers. If you do not think you should be reading this fic or have decided at this point that it might not be something you would like – please leave now, I promise I won't get mad!  
  
Disclaimer: Farfarello is not mine – as much as I would like him to be, all of our lovely Irishman's craziness belongs to Project Weiss and some other people. I'm only borrowing to entertain my fan-girl obsessions, please don't sue me for it.  
  
Darkness Alone – Chapter 2  
  
The youth watched wind snatch the tattered, pale scrap of material in its searching fingers and bear it away with a flick of its frayed fibers. The pale youth lies on his back, dusty and streaked with coal stains, thick blood coats his palms and the dull blade in his hand is coated with a slick coating of it's own, spattered with intermingled coal dust and flaky russet coloured rust. He raises his hand to his thin, pale lips, chapped raw from the merciless onslaught of the night's wind through the open topped carriage, and sucks on his muck covered fingers, closing his eyes with the contentment of a child placated with some form of sugary delight.  
  
Yellow eyes snap open brutally, thrown from his reverie, he squints at the spiraling, eddying balls of gas we call stars before he lunges violently for the edge of the coal truck, his legs collapsing from beneath him as the unpredictable coal mass moves under his abrupt weight change. He falls to his scarcely clad knees, pale bird-boned hands webbed with spidery blue veins grasp the edge so hard tendons leap into view across the backs of his hands and begin to tremble of their own accord. His feet slip again and his body is pulled away from the edge, his trembling tendons struggling to cope with the strain placed upon them. His head snaps downward in a reflex action designed to balance his body – his jaw slams into the thick iron edge of the coal truck.  
  
Dazed he blinks his eyes and refocuses them, he shifts his jaw a little, hearing it make peculiar clicking sounds as he did so, failing to notice it's distinct lack of obvious movement. Instead he noticed his mouth filled with fluid, it took him an instant to realise that it was his own blood that tasted so good. Grinning a little the fluid slipped over his lips to trickle to his chin, he rolled his eyes onto a grotesque angle to watch the blood. Wild eyed when he realised he was not going to be able to hold onto the ledge and catch the precious droplets at the same time. Dismayed he watched the blood drip gently off his chin to roll off the rusted iron edge and trickle down into the coal filled depths below.  
  
He flicked his tongue around in his mouth and noticed there was something else in there, apart from blood. With a slowly growing notion of what it might be his amber eyes gleamed and he hauled himself up to the edge and spat. The tip of his tongue, two teeth and a mouthful of blood sprayed into view in the moonlight, hovering in the grasp of time for an instant before being snatched away to meet their fate on the gravelly tracks. With a sadistic cackle their owner flung himself off the truck after them.  
  
Airborne for a second, his emancipated body seemed strangely poetic as it arced through the air, long legs flying out behind him. His moment of beauty didn't last very long as he crashed to earth, landing heavily on his right shoulder and rolling into clinging brambles and blackberries. He lay there panting for a moment before attempting to free himself from the restricting thorns, noting well the neat little cross- hatch designs they left upon his flesh as a momento of their experience together. Around this time he realised that his right arm wasn't obeying his orders. Glaring at it he realised it was lying on an odd angle. He watched it for a moment, as if it was a rarity that was supposed to do something exciting to entertain him. When it didn't he sighed, reached over and hauled his misdirected shoulder back into it's socket with a grizzly clunk.  
  
The escapee ignored it and scrambled to his feet, a body part he hadn't acknowledged until now, he peered at them curiously. They should have been pale and almost amphibian-like in their length and delicacy however, they were dust stained and a few of the smaller digits on his left foot looked slightly odd. He took a step forward, realised they weren't going to do much more than disturb his balance slightly, swung his arm in a circle to make sure it was correctly orientated, it grinded slightly to start but then continued it's wheel cleanly. Satisfied the youth began to scramble up the hill towards clearer country.  
  
He reached the summit a few hours before dawn, when a fresh mist rolled across the endlessly rolling plains, a glorious green in the daylight, now a murky teal aided, no doubt, by the thick mist. His amber eyes peered through the foggy hues to make out a dark tumbled down...something. Trudging forward, towards it the object began to take shape. A crumbling brick wall...or two...three, a rotting wooden door and beams. It grew in shape as he approached and upon reaching it, he realised it stood about his height at the lowest part. He entered the ruin and sat down near a wall and gazed at the mist that surrounded him before he closed his eyes and drifted into a deep slumber, arms and legs splayed about him, his hands empty and facing palm up – laced with their talismans from their latest injuries.  
  



End file.
